


Velvet

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24827143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: How did Klinger know about that velvet pillow? Follows the episode “Goodbye, cruel world.”
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Velvet

Klinger was sleeping. It was the sleep of the overworked, the terrified, and the mocked - so he wasn’t exactly delighted at being drawn into wakefulness by Hawkeye’s teasing voice. “Oh Klinger? Wakey, wakey!”

Klinger’s long lashes fluttered and he rubbed his eyes. He could smell the gin on his wake up committee and said a silent prayer that someday soon he’d wake up in Toledo. He’d dress in civilian clothes (something racy hidden underneath just for him), walk down to the deli and order coffee that had never been purple and fresh bagels - and no one would hassle him or tell him he was terrible at a job he’d never asked for or try to kill him (probably, anyway - Toledo was an adventurous town). 

“What do you want, sir?” His bleary vision cleared and he saw that he was being treated to a 2-for-1 special. “Sirs?” 

“BJ and I were up all night talking,” Hawk informed him. 

“I’m happy for you, sirs. You want me to requisition cots for your tired tongues?”

Hawk squeezed his shoulder, said to Beej, “Didn’t I tell you, BJ? Wake him up out of a dead sleep and he’s still ready with a clever quip! What a cutie!”

Klinger pulled on his pink robe; he knew he wasn’t going to get to enjoy the warmth of his covers much longer. “Flattery, sir? Now I  _ know _ you want something. Can you tell me what it is so I can start getting it so I can get a shower while there’s still hot water?” 

“We don’t want a  _ thing _ , Klinger.” This was BJ, voice gone sing-song with booze. “We want an answer.” 

“Oh, is that all? Yes, no, whatever you want. Just let me sleep.” 

“When you were talking about the personal stuff we all have, you said Charles has a red velvet pillow.”

_ It’s not even 7 AM and  _ **_I know_ ** _ this day is going to end in a headache.  _ “Yeah, sure. He does.”

“How do you know?” asked Hawk. 

They were drunker than he thought. “I deliver the mail to the Swamp. I’ve seen it.”

Hawkeye grinned and grinned and grinned. “Wrong answer. I  _ live  _ there and I’ve never seen it.” 

If the two Swamp rats had previously had any doubts about the track they were on, the way Klinger came suddenly and completely awake - sans coffee - dispelled them. 

“Oh, Hawk, look at those cheeks. I wonder if they match the mystery pillow?” 

“Sirs…” 

“Spill it, Klinger. When did it happen?” 

Klinger knew he couldn’t wiggle out of this interrogation; Hawk and Beej were relentless. But he wasn’t going to hang Winchester out to dry. “Look, sirs, if I keep you entertained with this story, you’ll do a favor for me, right?” 

“Of course!” 

“You don’t say word one to the Major. Got it?” 

They groaned and whined and cajoled, but Klinger just ironed and ignored them. “It’s this or nothing,” he said, sticking to his guns. “You want to hear anything from me, then you  _ can’t _ say anything to him.” 

They gave in; curiosity might have killed the cat but it played hell with swamp rodents, too. “Fine.” 

Sitting the iron aside (it was going to get warm enough in here without its steam) Klinger gave in. “Remember the conference you guys went to in Seoul the other day?” 

“While we were taking notes on tendons, you were playing footsie with the fancy third member of the surgical staff?” 

Klinger refused to blush. “No! You were gone and the camp was quiet so the Major went on a little bit of a bender. Not that you sirs would know anything about that, I’m sure.”

“Did he just call us lushes, Beej?” 

“Maybe. But it’s a stall to keep us from hearing how Charles called him ‘luscious,’ I think.” 

Klinger sighed. “He got drunk so I helped him back here.”

“And? And?”

“I tried to put him to bed and, uh, I kind of got pulled in, too. The Major’s really tall, y’know?”

The rats were almost giggling. “And I’m sure you tried  _ real hard  _ to get away,” Hawk said knowingly. 

“Maybe not,” Klinger admitted. “But  _ I  _ didn’t do anything. I just let things happen to me.” 

“You’re saying the Major took advantage of  _ you _ ?” 

“I’m saying there’s no way he remembers thing one about it - but everything he did was fine by me.”

Hawkeye squeezed his cheek. “Look at that dreamy little smile!”

BJ, though still lubricated with gin, had other concerns. “Wait a minute. Klinger, what were you wearing?”

“I’m sure it was something tasteful,” said Hawk.

“Sure, but was it a dress? Klinger, I’m not trying to be mean, but if Winchester was drunk,”

“Blasted to the moon,” Klinger corrected. 

“Are you sure he knew what he was, uh, who he was…?” 

Hawkeye interceded. “Did he say your name?”

“Sure. And lots of other pretty stuff, too.” He didn’t mean to, but he smiled then, remembering that voice with its manor house accent unraveling- over him. 

Hawkeye jostled him, teasing. “And what did he do to get you to look like that, I wonder?” 

“ _ Everything _ .” 

That calmed BJ’s fears; if everything meant what he thought it did, Charles had known his bedmate’s gender, which meant he hadn’t been mistaking Klinger for a nurse. 

“So, what do you do now?” Hawk asked as Klinger dressed - half in fatigues and half in finery. 

“Not a thing. But I get to go home with the memory of at least one night I  _ didn’t  _ hate being stuck in Korea. Can we get the day started now, please? The Colonel has this thing about the morning reports actually being filled out in the morning.” 

They stood, filed out into the sunshine with him. Then Hawkeye stopped. “You never did say how you found out about that pillow.” 

Klinger lifted his eyebrows, mischief making his eyes shine. “You sure you wanna know?” 

BJ clamped a hand over Hawkeye’s mouth. “He doesn’t. Go to work, Klinger.”

The Corporal saluted the sloppy surgeons and left for a morning of clerical duties; throughout the day, his mind would turn to the memory of red velvet stuffed under his hips. 

***

Later that day, across the base, the third resident of the Swamp was struggling with his memories, or lack thereof. He knew  _ something  _ had happened. He had a good idea, even, of what that something was, given the make-up stains on his pillow and the tender ache in his balls that said he’d spent more than once. 

But no one had been in his bed the next morning. It saddened and worried him. He didn’t believe he’d coerced or forced anyone into anything, but did their conspicuous absence mean they regretted the act? He was surprised at himself, a little ashamed, too; casual liaisons were not his tumbler of cognac. Of course, he didn’t  _ usually  _ permit himself to tumble so deeply  _ into _ a personal ocean of the stuff.

It wasn’t an easy mystery to solve, either. To ask who his bedmate had been, he first had to admit he didn’t remember, which was tantamount to admitting he was a cad. He closed his eyes but found only flashes of color and the sense that whoever’s arms he’d been twined in had been, to borrow the lower class lingo of his bunkmates, “a good lay.” 

“What mental wall are you battering your brain against, Charles?” 

“Hmm?”

“You’re giving  _ me  _ a headache,” Pierce told him. “What are you thinking about so hard?” 

Winchester thought about lying. Discussing a personal matter with Pierce? Hari kari sounded more appetizing. However, Pierce  _ was  _ the camp’s premiere womanizer… maybe he really could help? 

“Pierce, may I confide in you?”

“For a price.” 

Winchester’s eyes went wide, more white than blue. “What?”

“I’m teasing, Charles.” Privately, he’d hoped the joke would shock Winchester into abandoning the mental cage he seemed intent on pacing. “Yes, you can talk to me. And, no, I won’t use it as ammunition later.”

Charles didn’t seem to know what to do with this pledge of decency, so Hawk moved things forward himself. “Spit it out, Winchester.” 

So, he did - in his own haltingly elegant way. Halfway through, Pierce’s eyes went nearly particolored, sparkling with mischief so heady it ought to have carried a warning label. 

Charles stopped. “Pierce, old chum, am I correct in my surmise that you know more about my, ah, little problem than  _ I  _ do!? And if so:  _ How is that even possible _ !?” 

“Pure coincidence, I swear.” Hawkeye was struggling to hold onto the gales of laughter that longed to flood his throat. “You really don’t remember?”

“If I  _ remembered  _ we would not be having this tete a tete. Pierce, please!” 

“Look, I’ll help refresh your memory, but there’s no way I’m springing this on you all at once.”

“If I was old enough to arrange said assignation, I am quite sure I am old enough to hear it recounted. Give me the name.” 

“One problem: you didn’t arrange anything. You were falling into bed drunk.”

“As, I assume, was the other party?” 

At the moment, BJ returned and saw Charles leaning in, balanced on the edge of his seat. He saw, too, Hawk’s expression, his delight in holding something just out of reach. So he threw a grenade in the middle.

“You tell Charles he slept with Klinger, yet, Hawk?” 

Both men turned so quickly and so furiously that BJ was certain he’d be treating soft tissue injuries by morning. Hawk cursed him for ruining his fun; Winchester might have challenged him to a duel. 

“We promised Klinger we wouldn’t do that,” Hawkeye reminded his best friend. 

“You were already doing it.” 

“I was going to help him remember on his own. That’s not the same as  _ telling _ .” 

Charles looked back and forth between them. “If one might be permitted to enquire: why would the Corporal tell  _ you _ ?” 

Hawkeye held a hand to his forehead to check for fever. “I was expecting a good deal more screaming from you. You’re taking this well.”

What he had taken  _ well _ , Winchester might have said, was a lithe Lebanese Corporal with an eye for petticoats. He thought he could remember the swish of the fabric as he reached beneath it. He definitely was beginning to remember the mewling sounds Klinger had made when he’d held him down and gone to work on him with his tongue. 

“It’s a long story,” BJ said. Teasing Klinger was one thing; bringing up that velvet pillow to Winchester might prove dangerous. “We sort of badgered him into it.”

He could believe that easily enough. “How was he?” 

“Don’t you mean ‘how was I?’” Pierce asked. 

“Don’t be vulgar, Pierce. It isn’t even noon.” 

BJ decided to help Charles out; he was pretty sure Klinger would benefit from their meddling and it had been obvious that Winchester made him happy. “Walking on air. He wasn’t going to tell you, though.”

“Why on Earth not?”

“Poor kid from Toledo - rich surgeon. He probably thinks it’s a poor match.” 

“Who better to look after a poor kid from the glass capital of the world than one who can so easily afford it?”

It was exactly what the Swamp rats had been hoping to hear. “You’re going to look after him, then? For real?”

“Gentlemen, I may have stumbled over a bottle and into the Corporal’s bed, but I had planned to end up there eventually. If you will excuse me, I have an apology to render and a Corporal to collect, provided he’ll have me.”

Pierce let him get out the door before calling, “I think he already did!” 

He found the Corporal on his knees, boxing up the decorations they’d teased him so mercilessly about. Without a word of warning or explanation, Charles pushed the box between them aside and knelt with him. 

He was surprised to see that Klinger looked frightened- and deeply disappointed. “They told you, huh? I shoulda known better.” 

“I was striving to remember,” Charles corrected him in a gentle voice Klinger had never heard him use. “I deeply regret that I treated you so poorly.”

Klinger couldn’t help the grin he flashed. “You really must not remember. You were great.”

He blushed at this undeserved praise. “Thank you, Max, but it was still wrong of me to prevail on you in such a state.”

“I could’ve left if I wanted to.”

_ This  _ was reassuring; it meant that he hadn’t sought to restrain him in some way; he had been holding someone who wanted to be held. “I’m glad you did not. You see, it might have taken borrowed courage for me to express it the first time, but you conquered my heart in my earliest days here with your kindness and your pretty eyes and prettier gowns.” 

Being desired as a bedmate was old hat for the Corporal; he’d been fetishized and pawed at plenty (always saying no until Charles). Being wanted for his whole self was new and intriguing. “You’re not just talking sex, are you?” 

“Why no, of course not. Not that I do not envy you the more complete memory you possess.”

“I’ll reenact it for you,” he heard himself offer, surprised at his own boldness. 

Charles matched him. “I’ll lend you my clusters. You can play my part.”

“You’d let me…?” he began without meaning to. 

This told Charles  _ something  _ of that night anyway. “You don’t wish to?” He waited a beat, enjoying those wide, wide eyes. “You are blushing, my dear.” 

Klinger gave a soft whine. “Take it easy with the pet names, Major.” 

Charles filed this away for future use.  _ And, oh look, the future is  _ **_now_ ** . “Darling, it was my intention to court you, to make up for my previous, ah, boorishness, but, ah, perhaps,”

Klinger was somehow very much  _ in  _ his lap. “Court me later. I’ll wear my white gloves - promise.”

Eagerness was flattering, of course, but he owed Klinger his care. “You’re sure about this?”

Klinger nodded.  _ Keep me _ , his heart said with every beat.  _ Let me stay.  _ He’d been honest with the captains. If one night  _ had  _ been his allotment, he would have taken it, visited its memory in quiet moments, but he wouldn’t have asked for more. However, if there was the slimmest chance he could tangle his life with the surgeon’s, it wasn’t something he was prepared to leave on the table. 

“We should probably find a better spot, though, Major. You never know when someone’s going to come in.” 

Charles thought about it; there were few places on offer; none of them were aesthetically appealing, either. 

Klinger solved the problem for him. “Generator shed? I have keys.”

_ And we can be loud there.  _ Sometimes aesthetics were overrated. “Ten minutes?” he asked. 

Klinger answered with a happy nod. Charles wanted to kiss him and settled for telling him so, adding, “If I do so now, I’m afraid I will not be able to leave.” 

“If you’re making  _ me _ the reasonable one, this is gonna get interesting real fast,” Klinger teased, looking so damn ready to be kissed that Charles had to tell his lips not to pucker. 

“Thus far, it has been your role,” Charles reminded him, looking contrite. “Though I do wish you had been less so and allowed me to awaken beside you.”

“Major, if I had stayed, we never would have made reveille, and somebody would have come looking. You, uh, you probably wouldn’t have wanted them to see all the things I wanted to do with you.”

Charles typically wasn’t so bold in his speech, but he sensed the effect such an answer might have ahead of speaking it. “On the contrary, beautiful. I would have been very proud.” 

Klinger made a soft noise at him and Charles knew, then, that using his voice was one of the best methods to please his new love. “Major,” he whined. “You do want me to be able to  _ walk _ to the shed, right?” 

Charles pretended to look him over, enjoying every second. “I believe I could carry you easily enough. But, perhaps we should try another tack. What do you say to a preview, Max?”

_ Say my name like that and I’ll say whatever you want - probably over and over.  _ “Preview?” 

“Let me please you quickly here. It will both give me a memory to replace the ones I lost and allow you to hold out much longer when we, ah, change venues.” 

That Winchester  _ wanted  _ him to “hold out,” wanted to be with him for as long as possible, was the flattering thing that had Klinger nodding yes. Then he frowned. “I wish I was wearing something prettier,” he lamented. 

“You look lovely in everything and, to the best of my recollections, in very little as well.” 

Klinger didn’t move; despite sparking his fair share of desire, he had little experience and Winchester’s voice flattering him was a heady thing. Hand at his back, Charles drew him near and kissed him. If his arm hadn’t been behind him, holding him up, Klinger would have bent into the mattress under that kiss. 

“I forgot how good you are at that,” he murmured, when Winchester drew back to work on his pants. Though perfectly capable of doing both, he wanted to see what his hands were uncovering. Klinger arched toward him, following his hands with his hips as those long fingers stroked his stomach, gripped his hips with a touch meant to convey possession. 

Klinger jerked forward when those fingers found him. Charles looked into his eyes as he moved down his body, held them when he used his mouth to dampen him. The Corporal might have felt ashamed that Charles had to hold his hips down to still him, but Charles was pleased, grinning at his response. Klinger couldn’t know it, but Charles had so rarely been met with enthusiasm that he was hungry for it, happy to reward it with the best he had in him. 

The Major had said this first session would end quickly, but he backed off each time the end came close. Each time, tense muscles uncoiled and left Klinger shaking against his supporting arm, hair dark with sweat. 

“Are you mad at me for something?” he asked weakly, smile belying his words. 

“Quite the contrary. I enjoy watching you. You belong on movie screens or in glossy photographs… though I would be terribly jealous of the other eyes that beheld you there.”

Charles? Possessive? It was an intriguing concept. “I don’t need a crowd, Major. Just you.” 

“Care to prove it?” 

Klinger had no idea what he was about to be asked or asked for, but he was already nodding. 

“I’m going to get you off now,” Charles promised. “But I believe that if you’ll say my name, I can, ah, join you.” 

_ Holy Toledo.  _ Still, the basis of their relationship  _ was _ in their back and forth. “The whole thing? The Roman numeral and everything?” 

It took Winchester a second to realize that he was being teased - effectively, too. “Maxwell, may I offer a word of advice? No matter who has told you otherwise, strangulation is  _ not  _ a pleasant way of achieving release.” 

That warning tone was kind of hot, and Klinger lowered his zipper. “Got it, Major.” 

He won a warning  _ look  _ then and swallowed hard. “Charles.” 

“That’ll do.” 

And although Klinger had been set to believe this talk of “joining in” was just flattery - Charles turned out to be as affected by his voice calling for him as Klinger was by that accented tone pushing him on. 

***

Not long after, they were in the generator shed. Using the mail bag as camouflage, Klinger had brought blankets and pillows enough to provide a semblance of comfort. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring your rug,” Charles teased. 

“Thought about it.” 

“You look lovely.”

“I had something nice stashed away. Can’t say I thought I’d get to wear it for you.” 

Once more, he said, “You should have stayed.” Then he embraced him to feel the finery he was garbed in - some masculine and some feminine and, Charles thought:  _ all mine.  _ Klinger allowed him to tilt his chin and claim his mouth - kissed rather than kissing - but he he didn’t leave Charles feeling unwanted. He’d held off before because he hadn’t been sure that the Major wanted anything beyond a warm body, but now he knew that Charles wanted him, and that freed him to explore whatever he could reach. 

Unaccustomed to any touch - let alone one that seemed to be able to make his clothing  _ melt  _ off (where the hell had his belt gone?) Charles found himself sliding down into their nest. Even he couldn’t have said if he was trying to get closer to those hands or giving permission or just offering easy access, but he felt Klinger grin beneath his lips. Winchester could feel a new, fierce, fearless happiness in the body he held - and in himself. He knew that it would never leave him as long as Klinger was at his side - and he never meant to allow him to stray from it again. 

The sound of Klinger’s breathing - harsh, now, with want - and the needy little noises he made - had him on edge from the start. He told him so (Klinger became so dazzlingly happy when praised that to withhold a compliment was practically unlawful), confided that he might coax him to climax with nothing but his tongue. “Of course I can, Major,” the cunning Corporal said before sliding down his long torso and introducing the most intimate parts of him to his tongue and his lips - and maybe a few teasing fingers, just for good measure. 

It was Charles’ turn to be vocal - and to let Klinger know just how easily he could hold his head down if he wanted to. 

“Go ahead,” came the quip from between his legs. “I can take you deep if you want it.” 

Charles fell back with a sigh, admitted afterward. “I am never going to be a match for your mouth.” He was tracing his bright lips as he said so. 

Klinger burrowed against him as if to connect them at as many points as possible. “Felt like a fine combination to me.” 

Charles closed his eyes against a flash of desire he was in no shape to act on. “You’re doing it again.” Stroking over his back, he said, “I can resign myself to defeat, I suppose,” (it really  _ was  _ the best instance of losing he’d ever enjoyed) “but if I don’t find something for you to do with that mouth of yours, you’re going to kill me.” He positioned the smaller man over his lap. “Might I suggest screaming my name?” 

It turned out to be a lucky thing the generator shed was so noisy. 

Across the camp, Hawkeye caught a glimpse of red velvet sticking out from beneath Charles’ other pillows and laughed for joy. 

End! 

  
  



End file.
